


Wrecked

by notcrypticbutcoy



Series: Canon Inserts [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Swap, Coda, M/M, Malec, mostly fits canon, post 2x11, warning for a homophobic slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcrypticbutcoy/pseuds/notcrypticbutcoy
Summary: A little fic set hours after 2x11.With Magnus and Valentine having swapped bodies, Alec's visit to check on his boyfriend following Azazel's summoning doesn't quite go as planned.





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write things set in canon right after episodes like this, but this little plot just tumbled into my head, and I couldn't resist. I don't think this will ever really contradict canon -- it's just an insert between 2x11 and 2x12.

Every time Alec's phone buzzed to alert him to a new text in the morning follow their encounter with Azazel, he found himself yanking it out of his pocket, unlocking it in anticipation of a text from Magnus.

But—nothing.

Magnus had said he'd call, Alec thought, as he shucked off his gear slowly with the others, after following Jace and Clary down an alleyway to follow a group of demons for...god, he couldn't even remember. Something pointless, he expected. But there'd been nothing but radio silence. Not even a text to let Alec know that Magnus was alright, after his exhaustion the previous day.

Although, it hadn't quite seemed like mere exhaustion. Magnus had looked...confused, bewildered, shell-shocked. He'd seemed uncertain, eyes darting around. And, more importantly, he hadn't met Alec's gaze until right when he'd said goodbye.

It wasn't like Magnus' breathless collapse all those weeks ago after healing Luke, when he'd sagged against Alec's chest as though he couldn't make his muscles work for another moment, only to recover a few hours later.

When Alec asked, Jace promised to cover for him and call him, if anything urgent arose, and so Alec snuck out of the Institute at a little before eleven o'clock, heading across the city to Brooklyn.

He stopped off at a pastry shop he knew Magnus liked before he dashed across the street to his boyfriend's loft, hoping that the surprise wouldn't be an unpleasant one. It wasn't like Magnus had ever made him feel unwelcome; he'd just acted so strangely the day before.

"Magnus?" Alec called, frowning when the door didn't swing open for him. He rapped his knuckles against the wood. "Magnus, are you home? Can I come in?"

For several moments, there was silence. Perhaps Magnus really was fine, and he was out on a job, visiting a client or having a meeting or whatever else Magnus' job entailed.

But then he heard footsteps, and the door clicked open. He smiled when Magnus' profile was revealed in the doorway, and raised his eyebrows.

"Hey," he said, and shook the bag of pastries lightly in front of Magnus' face. "I know this is spontaneous, but I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I brought you breakfast. Or, brunch, I guess."

Magnus' eyes flickered down to the bag, and then back up to Alec's face. Defensiveness was written into every line of his body, and it made Alec's brow furrow a little as he swept his gaze up and down again, searching Magnus for some sign of injury, or discomfort.

Alec twisted his head to one side, lifting his chin in question. "Can I come in?"

Magnus purses his lips. "Alright."

Another hard look, and then Magnus turned on his heel, striding confidently into the loft. The movement lacked the fluid elegance Alec had come to associate with the warlock, but he put it down to stress, or exhaustion. Something yesterday had clearly affected Magnus more than he was willing to admit, and Alec was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Not that he planned on pushing into dark places Magnus wasn't ready to discuss with him, if it really came to anything so serious. But he wanted to be good to Magnus. He wanted to support him, and talk to him, and put in effort to their relationship.

And, more simply, he loved Magnus, and he wanted him to be happy and healthy and flourishing, above anything else.

"I got that apple strudel you said you like," Alec said, dropping the bag gently on the kitchen counter to pull the wrapped food out. "And some of those cinnamon pastries."

He looked up when Magnus remained silent, and got a strained smile when their eyes met.

"Thank you," Magnus said, but his smile didn't seem to reach his eyes.

"Hey." Alec abandoned the food, concern furrowing his brow, and stepped closer to Magnus, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Magnus jerked his head in a nod. "I told you yesterday, Alec. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" He rubbed up and down Magnus' arm absently, searching his eyes for some clue that he wasn't being entirely truthful. "You seem shaken."

"I'm fine," Magnus said, rolling his eyes a little, and pulled away from Alec's grasp to peer down at the food with a definite note of suspicion on his face.

He wasn't wearing any jewellery, Alec noticed, nor was he wearing any make-up, but remnants of eyeliner remained around his eyes, as though he hadn't bothered to persevere with wiping it all off. And Alec admitted that he knew fairly little about fashion, but he was also fairly sure that Magnus was wearing the same shirt he'd worn yesterday—when did Magnus ever wear the same clothes two days in a row?

"You know you can trust me, right?" he asked, keeping his voice as soft as he could. He didn't want Magnus to feel like he was pushing, but at the same time... "I mean, if something's wrong, you can tell me. Not...anything that makes you uncomfortable, or details, or whatever, but if you're not okay, you can say that you're not okay. I won't ask if you don't want me to."

Magnus shrugged, and it seemed such a bizarre movement on Magnus' body. "Nothing's wrong."

Alec exhaled through his nose in frustration. "Look, if you want me to go, can you just say so? I don't know if I've done something to annoy you, or if you're just tired, or if something else is going on, but if you don't want me here, just- just tell me."

Magnus didn't turn around, and instead peeled back some of the thick paper wrap to scrutinise the apple strudel. "I'm just a little busy. How about I call you later?"

Alec curled his fingers into his palm to stop himself screaming, and instead clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, counting to five to calm himself before he opened his mouth to reply.

"Fine," he said, and grabbed Magnus' arm to turn him round. He sighed when he met Magnus' gaze, eyes that deep brown and so painfully familiar, and shook his head. "I don't want to argue with you. Can I stop round for dinner, tomorrow? When you're less busy?"

Panic, clear as day, flashed in Magnus' eyes. "I don't—"

"Alright, alright, fine. I'll call you tomorrow."

He leant down to kiss Magnus goodbye, and felt fear ricochet through him when Magnus jerked back. He paused, and searched Magnus' gaze, but he decided not to comment, instead turning to kiss Magnus' cheek instead.

"No—"

A hand pushed on his chest, forcing him back, and Alec stared at Magnus incredulously. His boyfriend refused to meet his gaze, while Alec's heart hammered painfully against his ribs, cracking and shattering at being slapped in the face with rejection.

"Fuck it," Alec mumbled under his breath. He held his hands up, palms forward in surrender, and turned to walk out. "I'm done. Don't call me tonight. I don't want to shout at you."

He slammed the door on his way out, breathing heavily, and stopped outside, leaning against the smooth black wood. Chest rising and falling heavily, he lifted a trembling hand to his eyes, shockingly unsurprised when they came away wet.

What the fuck was going on?

But there wasn't time for that. He had to pull himself together and get back to work. He couldn't lounge around outside Magnus' loft, moping and heartbroken over some stupid non-argument.

He heard muttering coming from inside the loft just as he readied himself to leave, and paused, tilting his head to listen.

"Fucking fags," he heard, the syllables barely a mumble under Magnus' breath, and Alec's eyes widened, a numb horror spreading through his body.

What the fuck?

***

Across the city, Magnus Bane sat locked in a cell with his head pressed into his knees, forcing back tears that wanted to slide down his cheeks. He wouldn't give any Shadowhunter the satisfaction of seeing him cry—even if they didn't know who he was.

He wondered where Alexander was, now. He wondered where Catarina and Raphael were, and how long it would take them to notice that the racist, genocidal maniac occupying his body and taking advantage of his magic was not him.

He thought about the way Alec had reached down to him - well, to Valentine - in the aftermath of Azazel's appearance, the way his hand had lingered, concern saturating his voice as he helped him up off the floor, asking if he was alright, attention fixated on Magnus' wellbeing.

It made his heart shatter. He had to let Alec know. He had to make Alec believe him. He had to communicate it, somehow. But who the hell would believe him? Valentine was being tortured, was going to be killed, in all likelihood. He'd say anything to get out of it.

Alexander. He had to see Alexander. He had to say something, do something, to make him believe it. Tell him something only Magnus could possibly know.

But even then, there was no guarantee...

His breath hitched, fear running through him despite himself, and he swallowed heavily, wishing, not for the first time, to feel Alec's fingers on his, palms pressed together, breaths intermingling and lips warm on his skin.

"Alexander," he whispered, under his breath, too quietly for the cameras to hear. "Please come. Please, please come. You're my only hope."

But why would he? What possible reason would Alec have to visit Valentine? The man meant nothing to him.

Someone, someone, had to come, surely? Someone he could convince. Jace, or Clary, or Isabelle...

Raphael and Catarina flashed in his mind. He'd be able to convince them, with all their decades of friendship. But they'd never come to the Institute. They couldn't. Not without being invited.

And so he prayed, futilely, for the appearance of hope in the form of Alexander Lightwood.

Little did they both know that the other was sprawled on the floor across the city, both feeling wrecked and devastated and horrified, praying for the comfort of the other's embrace, and the warmth of their love.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought, and [come follow me on Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com)!


End file.
